


I Love You

by Alyss_Baskerville



Series: The Music of the Ainur [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Before the Creation of Arda, Character Study, Cliche, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, First Age, Heavy Angst, Insanity, Jealousy, Love Triangle, Melkor is a creepy bastard, Mental Instability, Morgoth is His Own Warning, Not Sappy Romance, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One-Sided Attraction, One-sided love triangle, Ownership, POV Melkor, POV Third Person, Relationship Issues, Self-Destruction, Self-Hatred, Stalking, The Valar, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, Valarin Language, Worship, self-destructive behaviors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alyss_Baskerville/pseuds/Alyss_Baskerville
Summary: Melkor has always beenpartialto Varda.





	I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a belated birthday present to my dear friend on Tumblr, who ships Melkor/Varda with her life. It is from her headcanons that I derived my description of Varda in this ficlet. I hope you enjoy :)
> 
>  _ **Warnings**_ : Obsessive behavior, stalking, obsession in general, uncommon character interpretations, unhealthy Melkor/Varda and unhealthy Manwë & Melkor. If you dislike Melkor/Varda, I do not suggest you read this (obviously).
> 
> Mānawenūz = Manwë [Valarin]  
> Mbelekhūrūz = Melkor [Valarin]  
> Aʒūlēz = Aulë [Valarin]  
> Bharadāz = Varda [Valarin]  
> Ulubōz = Ulmo [Valarin]  
> Arǭmēz = Oromë [Valarin]  
> Tulukhastāz = Tulkas [Valarin]  
> Irubōz = Irmo [Valarin]  
> Nāχamōz = Námo [Valarin]  
> Ngešešāz = Nessa [Valarin]  
> Ešedēz = Estë [Valarin]  
> Neyenanāz = Niënna [Valarin]  
> Vāñāz = Vána [Valarin]  
> Wayarēz = Vairë [Valarin]  
> Yābhananāz = Yavanna [Valarin]  
> Mayazônôz = Mairon (Sauron) [Valarin]

_I love you,_ he thinks, staring at her. Watching her, melding into the shadows and twisting the darkness about him to cloak his being from her detection.

By Eru, she is _sublime_. Awe-inspiring, heart-wrenching, world-shaking. Her long ruby-red tresses meld with the skies and the galaxies and the darkness of the space around her, painted with and cradling brilliant pinpricks of light on their depths. Her blue-grey eyes are even brighter, however, outshining her creations and eclipsing them so completely that as lovely as the stars are, he cannot focus on them, his gaze continuously drawn back to the luminescence of her eyes. Her white skin is shrouded in a garment of all darkness and stars, more stars, clustering together over the inkiness of the galaxy and settling yet shifting and rolling over her slender frame. Her features are flawless, sculpted by their Father with the intent of nothing less than absolute and utter perfection. To say she is beautiful is akin to comparing the vastness of the entire expanse of Eä to just a mere planet. It does not do her justice. It does not even come close to _licking the feet_ of doing her justice.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you_

Exquisite. She is exquisite. Priceless. Invaluable. Beguiling. Enchanting. Incomparable.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

And she? She loves another. She _loves another._ He cannot stand it. Just the thought of her divine gaze, brilliant and blinding with the light their Father bestowed upon her, directed at Mānawenūz and not at him, makes his teeth gnash, makes his fists clench, makes him tremble in rage and hatred and envy and the very air around him hums with the force of his resentment. He is more powerful, he is more worthy, so why? So _why_ is it that she loves his beloved brother, his precious darling brother, instead of _him?_

And he wants to weep, to shriek, to scream. He wants to throw himself at Mānawenūz’s feet and beg his brother for forgiveness, for if he knew that Mbelekhūrūz lurked in the shadows like this, spying on his lover, watching her, lusting for and coveting her while he knows full well how much she means to Mānawenūz, how much Mānawenūz means to _her_ . . . He feels ashamed. Chagrin burns at his skin, heating his body and lodging uncomfortably in his stomach, twisting and turning and seething inside him like poison, stronger and harsher than the fires of Aʒūlēz’s forges.

But he cannot stop. It is not up to him. It is not a force that he can control or command. He cannot look away from her, he cannot stop seeking her out, he cannot stop observing her and marveling at her and desiring her with all his being, with every ounce and atom and particle of his spirit. To look away is to kill himself, little by little, bit by bit, crushing and squeezing and choking the essence of _him_ with each glance that he takes away from her. He cannot _function,_ cannot bloody _think,_ when she is not here, too consumed with thoughts of her - her magnificence, her power, her light, her perfection.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

Even when she and his brother are wed, interweaving their ëalar of light and beauty and brilliance to meld into a singular being, individual but never alone, pledging their eternal companionship and adoration and their eternal _love,_ he cannot take his eyes off her, he cannot stop lusting after her, filled to the very brim of his spirit with wonder at just how _splendid_ she is in her beauty and might. And he cannot stop the loathing, the resentment, the utter fury at the unfairness of it all from welling up inside the depths of his being, directed at both his brother and the love of his very _existence_ . He hates them both. He despises them, _so much. Too much._ They have left him behind, Mānawenūz and Bharadāz, left him behind for their own world of contentment and bliss and tenderness, his own brother and the woman he loves and wants.

Even when he sets out on a path separate from his Father, separate from Mānawenūz and Bharadāz, his hatred eats away at him, gnaws him to shreds, gradually and agonizingly and steadily until he is nothing but a pulp of rotting skin and brittle bone and decaying muscle. He cannot stop imagining them, thinking of them; her unspeakably, indescribably lovely visage, the star-filled and vibrant ruby red of her hair, her creamy, moon-pale skin, those glorious silver-blue eyes, all enveloped in the embrace of his dear, dear, precious brother, who has always been by his side and has been with him always.

_This is wrong. All wrong. I love you. This is not what I wanted. I love you I love you I love you I love you. I hate you. Get out of my head. Leave me alone. I love you I love you I love you._

He thought fleeing from them, leaving them behind - leaving _her_ behind - would lessen the ache, soothe the pain, but it has done nothing except exacerbate everything. _Everything._ Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, he sinks deeper into his madness, his frenzy of lust and envy and love and acrimony. Drowning. Drowning always. Drowning forevermore. What must he do? What must he _do_ to escape this hell, more horrendous and more grotesque than anything Father can ever hope to imagine or hope to create?

He wishes there were something. _Anything._ At all. To free himself from this insanity that has taken root inside of him, sinking its claws into his spirit in a cold, vice-like grip. To do something to make himself a little less hopeless, a little less _pitiful._ To make her love him as he loves her.

If only she will love him in return, there is not a single thing in this universe or beyond the Timeless Halls or even whatever lies beyond _that_ that he would not do. He would defeat Eru Ilúvatar Himself, he would tear apart Eä, annihilate it so utterly that not even so much as a particle of its remnants will be left behind in its wake. If only she will love him in return, he would willingly destroy all that is necessary to make it work; Mānawenūz, Ulubōz, Aʒūlēz, Arǭmēz, Tulukhastāz, Nāχamōz, Ngešešāz, Ešedēz, Neyenanāz, Vāñāz, Wayarēz, Yābhananāz, Mayazônôz, everyone, anyone, _anything_. He would even destroy and rip apart and totally obliterate Bharadāz herself, if it means she will love him in death as she never will in life.

Anything to make her love him. Anything _at all._ And he hates himself. He _hates_ himself so zealously, so achingly for it, for how utterly pathetic and blind and feeble and helpless he is.

But it is all fruitless, and in the end he is brought to his knees and defeated. He comes to accept it, accept his love, his folly, his desperation, his fervency, for her, even as he writhes and thrashes and spits and curses in the grip of the chains he will always be shackled in. He loves her and loves her and _loves_ her and he hates her for not choosing him, as little sense as it makes. She means everything to him, anything else is worthless in comparison, and imagining a world without her is so unreal and painful and so unspeakably _cruel_ in how _meaningless_ it is. He can never have her, never hold her, never possess her, but he will _never_ , not in this world or the next or whatever else comes after that, not love her.

He is hers, utterly and in every way imaginable, every way possible. She _owns_ him; his very spirit, his very soul, his very _being,_ belongs to her and to no one else.

He loves her. And no matter how much he wants it to, wishes it to, desires it to, that will never change. _He_ will never change.

He thinks of her once more.

_I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you_

**Author's Note:**

> Well. As much as I say that Manwë/Varda is my Tolkien OTP and one of my favorite couples of all time, I must admit that I also adore twisted and toxic relationships, those that are more accurately labeled as _horror_ rather than romance, which is something Manwë/Varda will never be. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. And I hope the friend I wrote this for also enjoyed.


End file.
